


Warmth

by KingOfRats



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:31:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17245115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfRats/pseuds/KingOfRats
Summary: Sansa thinks about how different Winterfell is, after returning to it after so long.





	Warmth

Winterfell is different.

It seems almost blasphemous to even think, or at the very least childish and ungrateful, given how many men had died to return it to her. There is little point in denying the truth, though. Especially one Sansa has known since she first saw the Bolton's flayed man flying from the very towers bran used to climb. And while Winterfell is not the only thing to still bear Ramsay's scars, its perhaps the most obvious.

Ramsay is dead. It is the shadow of his cruelty has not quiet been put to rest yet. But walls can be rebuilt. The furniture and tapestries he ruined can be replaced. Lives are not so easily returned.

Sansa had not realized just how many of her childhood memories were underscored by giggling with Jeyne or taking lessons with her Septa. As a girl, she had known every single man and woman that worked in Winterfell, and many of their families besides - she still does, because Jon had made sure that she'd had the final choice on who they hired, but it wasn't the same. Winterfell is a patchwork of soldiers and wildlings and those few smallfolk that had survived the Winter and the Boltons, but they feel like strangers, not family. The absence of old Nan and Maester Luwin and a dozen others leaves a hollow feeling in her chest.

She wonders if Jon feels the same way when he goes to the yard. He spent years training under old Rodrik Cassel. Did he ever turn his head to ask him a question, only to find him gone?

Perhaps that is part of why he spends so much time in the Lord's solar with her. They share a pair of sturdy, worn chairs and a desk that seems to always be overflowing with clutter and work. In her memories, the room is so much bigger.

Maybe it was because it had always been her Father's, and he had always seemed a giant to her. Sansa thinks that his chair had been this massive, carved thing, and that it had been beautiful, a gift from one of the mountain clans that had loved him.  
She can remember crawling up it, onto his lap. But she can't remember what it looked like, and they certainly didn't have it anymore.

He had always kept the fire burning, too. She knows why - there are few things as frustrating as trying to write with cold fingers. But Jon always forgets whenever she leaves. He's too warm to notice the cold.

She had noticed it first when they'd been reunited at Castle Black, when he'd put his arms around her and it had felt like stepping into a forge. She'd ignored it at the time, passed it off as nothing. It was cold, that far north, and she'd been travelling for so long and Jon had felt like home.

But then Winter had come upon them and Jon would still strip down to his breeches to spar, even as their every breath turned to fog in the frigid air. He forgets to even wear gloves, some days. She doesn't know why it had happened, if it was some remnant of the Red Witch's magic or if it was his Targaryen heritage finally showing through. Sansa doesn't know which option she hates more.

But there were some upsides to it. At night, Jon's sleeping bulk pressed up against her back feels almost like the summer sun. It is a constant heat, and with his arm thrown across her, she hardly needs sheets anymore.

Winterfell is different, she thinks as she falls asleep to Jon's even breathing, but different isn't always bad.

**Author's Note:**

> bit late to wish yall a merry christmas/whatever so ill have to stick to have a happy new years <3


End file.
